A Beethoven Nacht in November

First I have to admit I’ve been really lazy about the blog this past week, as I’ve lacked much if not all motivation to do anything but read and imbibe my third or fourth cup of coffee for the day. My excuse is November…moody, complicated, much-lyricized November, the true calendrical trough with its bad weather, cold & flu, and all-but-totally exhausted fall fashion. For instance: the fur-lined over-sized hood and droopy cardigan + tights are about as expired as the bag of spinach sitting in the back of my mini-fridge. (The sort-of end of fresh produce being another major bust of late fall—we don’t really experience this in California, but I’m told that here in Germany one eats sauerkraut in the winter to keep scurvy at bay…)

That said, I’m overcompensating by trying to stay busy. So far, the rest of the month will entail an electronica show, a trip to Strasbourg, a trip to Tuebingen, and vegetarian Thanksgiving. And last Sunday night we went to a performance of Beethoven at the Stadthalle in Heidelberg, which, despite my somewhat lengthy, tangential complaint about November, is meant to be the subject of this post.

As you’ve probably already guessed, going to the orchestra isn’t usually how I spend my time on the weekends. I think people tend to use the word “layman” or “layperson” to describe a blob-ish, anonymous other—someone with whom they’re surely in contact but perhaps not ideally, someone to whom the circumstantial intelligencia may gently extend the stifled sympathy appropriate to those unwittingly impoverished beyond deliverance. But as I’ve already admitted to slothfulness I might as well come out of the closet as a Layperson as well: I know nothing whatsoever about music. Particularly not classical—I’ve seen a fair amount of opera and I really enjoy music, but the absence of any kind of visual component at an orchestra performance puts me pretty seriously out of my comfort zone. Like, what should I do with my eyes?? So to be honest I wasn’t sure how I would like Beethoven Nacht.

I prepared before hand: I wore black, uncomfortable clothing to blend in. I had a double espresso dumped into a large Heisseschokolade. And, as if departing on a long, east-bound Greyhound journey, I packed a pen and notebook, a novel I’m reading (just in case!), a bottle of water, chewing gum, and a camera. I was ready.

Once we arrived there was a minor, unexpected obstacle: we couldn’t find our seats and no one working there seemed to know where they might be. A lengthy search went underway until they panicked, improvised, and gave us two empty spots right behind an obstructing pillar—hardly any view at all!—just in time. The performance was beginning!

The Stadt violinist Philippe Mesin performed first and (in my Lay- estimation) was extremely good. And despite the sort of obstructed view of the stage and my anxiety over not having anything to watch, it was really awesome, actually, to see people playing instruments and exerting so much concentration in unison. The music was really beautiful and, to my surprise, not at all difficult to appreciate, even without any knowledge of its technical nuances. And amazing to me, too, that it was so easy to understand and appreciate the music’s nonverbal expression, immersed as I am in so much unfamiliar language and lost efforts at communication.

After the show I went to use the bathroom like everyone else there. The line was about 20 people long and snaked out of the restroom. I listened to the German language murmuring about (I guessed) the show, about post-show fatigue (it was 4 hours long!), the endless wait for the bathroom. When I finally advanced through the door, there was a very strong, very unexpected and disgusting smell: someone had vomited all over the floor and was smearing it around with a wet paper towel. Whoa! There was still a considerable wait remaining during which we would all be huffing the fumes of stomach acid. It was really awkward. Someone seemed to ask if she needed help, she seemed to reply that she was fine. Other remarks of restrained sympathy and disgust seemed to float through the line.

And then, with total clarity, I heard a woman behind me ask, “ist das Concert so schleckt??” The horrible tension of vomit + evening wear broke; everyone laughed way too hard—especially me because I was so excited to understand my first German joke! Was the concert so bad?? No! It was incredibly awesome!